Mr Jones and Me
by PancakeBunnie
Summary: This isn't a love story. This isn't the story about the knight in shining armor saving his princess. This story isn't an epic about a man with super powers saving the entire town in some heroic deed. This story is about a different kind of hero...
1. Chapter 1

_~Mr. Jones and Me~_

This isn't a love story. This isn't the story about the knight in shining armor rescuing his princess. This story isn't an epic about a man with super powers saving the entire town in some heroic deed. This story is about a different kind of hero.  
My name is Matthew Williams, dear friends, and I write to you as about as much of a nobody as the day I was born. But this story isn't about a nobody like me. This is about a somebody. A somebody with big dreams and an even bigger imagination, somebody who brought out the best in everybody no matter who they were, somebody who was probably the only person who ever believed in me.

I grew up in a small town in Canada, with divorced parents who never quit bickering. They had fights that left me feeling as insignificant as the gum on the bottom of my father's shoe. And it never stopped. Even when they lived separated, they'd find ways to always go at each other, and they especially liked to fight about me.  
Mama was the strong type of woman, and she was English. Papa was lazy, but he was always nice. He was French. Mama was always at work. And when she wasn't, she was cooking or cleaning or picking up after Papa. Papa never minded me much either. He'd had some issues with the wine, so I was a bit afraid as a small child.  
I never got much attention, and after a while I just got used to being lonely. While other children ran around laughing and screaming and having fun with each other, I'd sit alone at the edge of the playground with my toys. But that's okay. I never minded it much. I figure that's probably because I never knew anything different.

It was the year 1940 and the dawn of flight, and I had just turned twenty-one. I was able to leave my parents, so I packed up my bags and told them I was moving to America. I liked the Americans' freedom, I needed some of that. I also entertained the idea that it would give me a chance, that I'd have an opportunity to be someone, that maybe I could achieve my dreams like those beautiful people in the storybooks.  
"Absolutely not," Mama would say, "You should come back to England with me."  
"No, no, no," Papa would argue, "The boy is staying here with me."  
Apologies to the both of you if you're reading this, but that just wasn't for me.  
And so I left. I wrote them both a note saying I was leaving, and I crept out the back door that night with nothing more than a small suitcase and whatever I could fit in my pockets. I didn't need much. I had enough clothes for two weeks, and a few of my favorite books. ...And the stuffed polar bear from when I was little. I couldn't bear to part with dear Kumajirou! And truthfully I still needed him to sleep at night.  
I'd saved for years to go to college like Mama always wanted, but I used most of it and bought my ticket to New York. I can honestly say that the airport was one of the scariest experiences of my life and that I never want to be around that many people pushing and shoving and hurrying around ever again. It's mostly a blur now, that night, and I do believe I fell asleep on the plane ride. When I first woke up the next morning I thought I was dreaming. It took me a minute before I realized that I'd made it, I was in America.  
I stepped off the plane and it took my breath away. The city was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, living in the woods in Canada. It was so inspiring, the beautiful lights, everything was so magnificent!  
I walked down the streets of New York City, just taking in all of the people, the amazing buildings and the shining lights... And as I stood there in Times Square, in the midst of that huge bustling crowd, I'd felt more alone than ever before in my life.  
And I thought, I just made a huge mistake. Where would I go from here? I didn't know how to do anything, I wouldn't even know where to start, what was I thinking! I couldn't do this, I had to go back...  
And there I started to cry. But no! I must be strong! I wiped my tears off and gathered myself together.  
"You can do this, Matthew." clutching the old stuffed bear in my jacket, I willed myself to continue down to the little hotel toward the end of the street.  
I walked through the double-doors into the big fancy lobby and said a shy "Hello" to the woman at the front desk.  
She was quite kind to me, and helped me find a room. I walked up to my new home on the top floor and unlocked the door. And I distinctly remember the "Wow," that escaped me. It was beautiful!  
I dropped my bags and laughed and ran in. How exciting! America was so /fancy./ I flopped on the bed, and oh, it was magnificent! Ahh, I was feeling much more hopeful than earlier in the square.  
I walked over to the window and peeked out and the city below- oh, and wasn't it fabulous! Feeling a bit daring, I climbed out on the fire escape, and right in that moment was a feeling I will never forget for the rest of my life.  
I stared down at the people below, tiny as ants, and waved- not like they saw. It was much windier in the city, and I pulled my jacket tighter around me as the breeze blew my hair into a mess, but I didn't mind one bit. The glow of the lights was spectacular, oh, the whole thing was breathtaking... And I'm sure it sounds cliche, but to the little smalltown boy, the city was a whole new world. This is what America was all about.  
I slept like a baby that night, dreaming of what I could do, who I could be. Whatever happened, this was sure to be an adventure.

And the city was where I met him. Mr. Jones, as he liked to be called, because it made him feel important. He wanted to be famous, of course. He wanted to act, he wanted to sing, he wanted to fly, he wanted to find some new undiscovered land to name after himself. He strived to be /remembered,/ and I can assure you he did an excellent job.  
In a crowd he was easily picked out. He was the loudest by far, and he told the wildest stories. I loved the way he'd laugh until he cried, and the way that not only did he have dreams but that he wanted me to have dreams too. I remember those long nights we'd just sit together, tossing ideas and stories around... but I won't get ahead of myself there.

It would appear that we met by accident, but he always used to tell me it was fate. I was sitting in Central Park one day, throwing the birds the rest of my breakfast from a small bench along the bike path. I'd taken to walking through the park in the mornings, for I quite liked the little animals, they reminded the ones back home.  
I first ran across the curious Mr. Jones on my favorite park bench, on a day he'd gone on a whimsy and decided that he was going to ride a tandem bicycle with a kite and his dog. What would inspire him to do this? Well I'd learned not to ask after a while. I'd think it well-known that dogs aren't the greatest at riding bicycles, so it's no surprise he'd had trouble staying on the path.  
I threw the birds the last bit of my bagel and watched them peck at the bits fascinatedly. I heard a "WOO HOO!" and the birds were scattered away as some odd contraption flew through and I was pushed back on the bench. There was a shout, and I immediately spun to see what it possibly could have been that just flew by- and was met with the sight of an odd sort of man, tangled up in kite strings and a bent-up bike that had crashed into a tree. His golden retriever dog sat just a few feet away, panting and wagging his tail excitedly, and it almost reminded me of a small child at the amusement park shouting 'Again, again!'  
I smiled at the poor fellow and hiked over to him. "Need any help?" I asked, in my usual quiet shy tone.  
"Well hi-de-ho, there, Mister!" He jumped up and gave my hand a hearty shake, dragging with him the bicycle that was now tied to him by the kite, and nearly toppling over on me from it.  
"Oh, here, let me help you," I reached out to support him.  
"Oh, well aren't you just the bee's knees!" he remarked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I held him up whilst attempting to untangle the kite string, as he hopped on one foot to stay standing.  
I unwrapped the string from around his legs and he was able to wiggle out of the rest of the mess.  
"Thank ya', sir! Lordy knows where I'da been without'cha." He grinned at me, grasping both of my hands in his own and shaking. He had a Southern sort of accent, that sounded odd from living here in New Amsterdam too long.  
He was a fascinating man. He had blonde hair that looked like he'd tried to comb it, but the curious little cowlick right at the front wasn't having any of that. He had the most brilliant blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed, and a smile that was positively beaming. "They call's me Mr. Jones 'round here. Whaddabout you now?"  
I smiled sheepishly, and softly stammerred out, "O-Oh I'm Matthew... Matthew Williams... I-I'mnewhere." I laughed awkwardly.  
"Well it sure was dandy meetin' ya', Matt! Hope I seeya 'round sometime." He saluted me, then turned and hiked off with his head held high, and whistled for his dog (who goes by the name of Indiana... I was always quite fond of the little fellow.) to follow.  
I was left wondering what exactly had just hit me. I took the scenic route home, and couldn't stop smiling about the odd man.  
And that was it, from then on he was everywhere. It was hard to believe I hadn't noticed him before.

A few days later I was in the market and was interrupted by a large crashing noise. Myself and several other shoppers stopped and went to see what had happened. I immediately recognized the tuft of messy blonde hair that stuck up from a knocked over pile of cans.  
"Oh dear, Mr. Jones, does this happen often?" I rushed over to help him up.  
"Well howdy, Mattie! Aren't you just the eager beaver!" He grabbed my helping hand and yanked himself up.  
"Are you alright?" I asked.  
"Oh yeah, yeah, don' worry 'bout me. I'm use' ter it by now. Heh. Bet I look like a real fat-head." He brushed off, smilin' around. He was wearing suspenders over a buttoned-up shirt with a bowtie, and his cowlick was more obvious than ever.  
"Well it was nice seeing you again." I smiled and waved him goodbye.  
"Oh right! See'yer 'round town!" He waved once quick and skipped off.

Not more than a week later I found him jumping from the library's large steps, trying to see how far he could jump from. He made it to seven before he couldn't make the landing and fell to his knees on the pavement.  
I rushed over to help him up and laughed, "Mr. Jones! We must stop meeting like this!"  
He laughed heartily and jumped up. "Oh, Matt," he ruffled my hair with this, "Golly, bud, we should get together sometime."  
"Oh, that would be lovely!" I smiled brightly at him. I didn't have any friends here yet, other than the squirrels and birds in Central Park.  
"C'mon, lemme show ya where I usually hang 'round," he hooked his arm around my elbow like an escort and marched me right down the street. I stumbled after him, trying to keep up without tripping.  
Right at the end of the block was a small pub; I'd heard of it a few times from little snatches of gossip from the people on the streets. Mr. Jones pulled open the door and shoved me inside.  
It was a small, dimly lit room. Everything was old and worn, but in a comfortable sort of way- I'd almost say, ...cozy. There were a few dusty tables on one side and the bar counter on the other, and it smelled heavily of the liquor. Being in the afternoon, there weren't more than three others there at the time, but I've know the place on nights when all the men in the neighborhood were gathered round sharing a beer and listening to the ball game, and it was more alive than the Square itself. Little did I know yet anything about that, and how dear Mr. Jones and I'd spend half our nights here together, drinking and having a good time and musing on about our lives and our futures and our crazy dreams...  
He spun onto one of the bar stools at the counter and yanked me down on the one next to him. "Can'ah get two beers over here, Jimmy-boy?" Mr. Jones called to the bartender, a friendly man whose youth was long-lost somewhere down in Brooklyn. He slid two down the counter; Mr. Jones caught his expertly, whereas I nearly toppled mine over on Jim's shiny clean counter.  
Mr. Jones threw his head back laughing and clapped me on the back. "Oh, ain't you a card?" he took a long swig of his beer.  
"Oh... Ahah, yeah..." I just laughed awkwardly along with him.  
"You ain't never gone drankin' 'fore, have ya?" He asked, wide-eyed and surprised.  
"No sir, can't say I have." I smiled nervously down at the drink. What harm could it bring? I was of age, after all.  
"Whooa, no no, noo, man mebbe tha's why yer so darn uptight," he punched my shoulder, "Go on, try it!"  
"I-If you insist," I sighed. I shut my eyes tight and just bit the bullet and took a sip of the beer.  
"Ain't it sumthin'?" He drank with me. "Gives ya a funny sorta feelin', dunn't it?"  
"Oh wow..." I put down the glass and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, coughing a little. "Definitely funny..."  
He did that cackle sort of laugh again. "Oh, I like you, Matthew!" He tried to stop laughing. "I'mma keep you 'round."  
I don't know why that made me feel so special. "Well, thank you." I smiled up at him.  
"Ahh..." he sighed, finally able to stop his laughter. "To a long frien'ship, man-" he held up his drink, "and to hopin' we'll make it somewhere." he clanked his glass against mine and chugged it down.  
Smiling to myself, I drank mine down with him. This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

We sat at that bar counter every night for the whole rest of the week, just talking and laughing and having ourselves a good old time not worrying about anything. I'd gotten more used to the bitterness of the alchohol, and he'd taken advantage of my shyness and shared nearly every story I could imagine he'd possibly have. By the end of the week I knew his favorite color was navy, save for Wednesdays, when it would be red ("Wha's life w'thout whimsy?"); that 'what he wants to be when he grows up' changes every day but his greatest ambition in life never wavered from wanting to become an airplane pilot; that his cowlick's been like that all his life since the day he was born; that he was a firm believer in the existance of Sasquatch and he'd fight you on it if you disagreed ("An' he's in cahoots with ther aliens too, mark mah words, man!"); how he'd broken every bone in his left arm at least once; and that he'd moved here from Texas (because "Momma made me."); and I felt that, for the first time in my life, I had a real, honest-to-god, non-imaginary friend.

I remember that Saturday, at precisely five o' clock, there was a knock on my door. I figured it was housekeeping, seeing as I didn't know much anyone else. I opened the door to find Mr. Jones standing in the hall.  
"Hello," I greeted him with a handshake, and a smile of beneign surprise.  
"How-dee-do, Matthew?" He chuckled a bit, swaying back and forth on his heels, hands in his suspenders.  
"Good, good, come in," I politely invited him inside, but it wasn't like there was much to see.  
"Aw, naw, you're comin' out! I gotta surprise for ya!" He grinned wide, almost like a kid in a candy store. "C'mon!"  
"Oh boy," I stepped out of my little room and shut the door behind me.  
"Le's go!" He already started down the hallway, swinging his arms and springing his steps. I followed after with a bit of trepidation, for who knows what kind of 'surprise' he might have in store?  
He dragged me down a block and stopped me at the corner, showing me a beautiful blue new car. "Ain't she a beaut? 'Borrowed 'er frum an ol' friend Rob. But tha's not the surprise, come on!" He jumped over the hood and flung open the drivers' side and hopped in. I slid in the passenger side more carefully.  
"Oh, this is a real nice one..." I slid my hand over the dash in awe. I'd never been in a car this new and beautiful.  
"Ol' Robby's big on the lettuce," He winked. "Now. I ain't s'posed to be drivin' these things, so be hush about it, won't ya?"  
I looked at him like he was crazy; not like I didn't know already that he was. "Y-You can't drive?"  
"Used ter drive, but well they didn't quite 'ppreciate my 'bilities, and yanno..." He laughed awkwardly...  
"Ohh myy..." I buckled up the seatbelt and wished there was another, just in case...  
One thing about Mr. Jones was that it was never awkward being with him. He always had something to say. We sat and talked for a good half-hour or so, before he pulled up along the shore at around six or so, when it was getting dark.  
"Lookie there," he pointed over the small line of traffic to a large group of lights. I leaned out the window to get a better look.  
"What's over there?" I squinted to see better, but it was so bright.  
"We're goin' to the 'musement park! Momma always used ter tell us stories 'bout these places. This 'un here's called the Coney Island. Ah always wanted ter see it and now I have a fraind tuh come wit' me!" He was smiling as big as he could, cruising along the oceanside road, and I was practically hanging out the window trying to get a better look.  
When we finally found a place for parking on the busy street the two of us hiked into a place even more curious than the city. I'm told it was called the boardwalk, and this is where these amusement park things usually were. There were these towering metal contraptions, 'rides,' like those I'd only ever read of before; some were tall and some were small, some did flips and some went around in circles and they all were designed to give you a real thrill. It was deafeningly loud with music and laughter and screams, and smelled of delicious fried foods that would've given Mama a heart attack. And the best part is it was right on the shore, and at the end of the boards you could sit and watch the last bits of the sun disappear behind the Atlantic.  
"C'mon, Mattie-" Mr. Jones grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to one of the rides. "This one right here's everyone's favorite."  
It was called a 'carousel,' he said; the ride had a bunch of little horses that moved up and down and spun in a circle, with loud chipper organ music and lots of flashing lights. He slid up on one of the beautiful painted horses like a true professional, and sat up tall and proud like one of those heroic cowboys I'd only ever seen pictures of. I, however, took several attempts to climb up, and ended up needing assistance from one of the ride attendants.  
The carousel began to spin and Mr. Jones slung his legs around the opposite side and sat backward, facing me.  
"Inn'it sumthin'?" He threw his head back and laughed his scratchy, cackly laugh.  
"I-Indeed," I clung to the pole that held the horse in place for dear life, keeping my head down and eyes shut tight.  
"Loosen up there, Matthew!" He laughed again. "There ain't nothin'ta be scared of!"  
Trepidly I peeked up, and it was something magical. And I laughed along with him, and even braved up enough to only have to hold on with one hand.  
After the carousel ride I felt a tad dizzy, but Mr. Jones wasn't quite satisfied yet and decided we should go on a rollercoaster.  
"Whaddya say?" He grinned.  
Not having the slightest idea what a rollercoaster was, I unkknowingly agreed and he grabbed my hand and raced off to a ride all the way at the opposite side of the pier.  
"Ta-Da!" he stood proudly in front of the rollercoaster with his arms spread. "Killer-diller, huh?"  
Just watching the ride I felt sick. "Oh I'm sure..."  
"Great! Let's go!" He pulled me toward the entrance but I stood firmly in place.  
"I'd rather sit this one out, thank you." I smiled sheepishly.  
"D'aww, pleeaase? Perty-please wit' a cherry on topp?" he made a pouty face and begged.  
"No thank you, I-I'd really not..." I slid toward a small bench rather than the ride...  
"Well tha's just too bad, inn't it?" He ran over and lifted me up around the middle and slung me over his shoulder.  
"Wh-What are you doing!?" I waved and kicked a bit, trying to balance myself and hang onto him.  
"We're goin' fer a ride." He didn't put me down until we were far up in line and I couldn't escape, where he told me to "Toughen up, it'll be fun!"  
He pushed me onto the ride first and scooted in next to me. I was holding on for dear life and it hadn't even started yet.  
"You'll be fiiinnee!" He slung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him to ruffle up my head like an older brother.  
"H-Hey!" I laughed at him, but then shouted as the ride started suddenly, which made him laugh at me.  
The ride started slowly, inching up a hill. "Why, this isn't so bad," I thought aloud as I waved to the people below.  
Mr. Jones gave a low, evil sort of laugh. I prayed the wicked intentions weren't targeted at me.  
Two seconds later I learned they were, as the ride stopped for a split second at the top of the hill before plummeting toward the earth at lightning speeds. I screamed at the top of my lungs and clung onto Mr. Jones, who was screaming more out of ecstasy than fear.  
"WOO-HOO! YEAAHH!" He yelled excitedly, arms up in the air, head back laughing, as the ride carted up another hill and down again even faster.  
"MAMA!" I was close to tears clinging to my dear friend for comfort, but he just laughed.  
I didn't stop yelling until it was over, and even then I was afraid to let go of the mad cackling Mr. Jones.  
I don't remember whether I threw up after getting off the rollercoaster, but I do remember him trying to make up for it by buying ice cream.  
We sat on a little bench next to the ice cream stand, and the differences between the two of us couldn't have been more imminent. Him slouched back in his usual button-down and suspenders, whistling at the women who passed by, halfway through his triple-scoop ice cream cone he'd drowned in fudge; me sitting up proper like Mama taught me, hiding in my favorite jacket (which I'd forgotten had my dear bear Kumajirou in the pocket), quiet and shrinking back from the crowd, with a simple classic vanilla ice cream cone. I kept comparing between the two of us and I remember thinking that we couldn't have been more opposite. So how had we become such close friends so quickly? I guessed it was the way I was around him.  
"Hey Mattie! I got'n idea!" He turned to me with a huge grin, and the sparkle of a brilliant idea in his eye. "Le's go dancin'!" He pointed over to a small bandstand surrounded by all the dancing young couples.  
"O-Oh I don't know if I'm quite cut out for all that..." I laughed awkwardly; I was still a bit sheepish.  
"Nonsense! You 'kin do it!" He jumped up and we walked arm-in-arm to the dancefloor.  
"Now watch this," he winked to me, and looked around at all the pretty young ladies that didn't have dates. He caught one girl's eye and looked away quickly, then he glanced back over at her, winked, and then turned away whistling. The girl giggled and squealed with her small group of friends. She did a little finger wave the next time he looked over, and he did the little "who, me?" thing, before strutting over to her. They talked for a quick moment, then he took her hand and kissed it before leading her to the dancefloor. She made excited motions back to her friends before allowing him to spin her around, and they began to dance.  
And I thought, well gee, that doesn't look too difficult. I waved over to one of the girl's friends. She just smiled back at me politely, and another girl whispered something that made her laugh. I hoped it wasn't about me. I looked back at Mr. Jones. He was pretty smooth with the ladies, and golly it looked like they were really having fun. Yeah, I could do that, right? I marched right up to the girl and asked her.  
"H-How'd you like to dance with me, sweet thing?" ...at least I tried.  
But to my surprise she accepted, telling me I was cute. I felt my face get all red as I led her onto the dancefloor. O-Oh gee, was I really cute?  
I tried to dance like Mr. Jones, but he was a downright 'ducky shincracker,' as he'd say. It was so embarassing, I kept stepping on her feet... but she was a good sport and just laughed it off. At the end of the song she thanked me for the dance and ran back with her friends, and I walked back to Mr. Jones feeling a bit more proud.  
"Well shoot, Matthew, I knew you had it in ya!" He patted me on the back. "You ain't no dead hoofer, no sir, you're like a regular active duty now-"  
I felt my face get red again. "I- I wouldn't say all that now..."  
He just laughed and we walked back off the floor. After a few more rides we decided to head home, but not before I'd tried to hit on a few girls... just to impress him, of course, because I could be cool too! He just said I'd gone "Doll dizzy," and "It must be the spring."

The next night we spent telling Jim the bartender all about our wonderful experiences on Coney Island. He didn't doubt it, in fact, as he wiped down the counter for the third time that night, he told us, "Yeah, I took the wife down there a couple times, she loves the place." and Mr. Jones laughed and said he couldn't imagine why.

And for a month we sat at that bar together, and we had the time of our lives in just the two of us.  
One time he set out to prove he was "the darndest ducky shincracker 'round town" and ended up dancing so hard he broke a table.  
Another time an older gentleman came in the bar, and wouldn't stop whining to Jim how dirty everything is. So Mr. Jones decided to take things into his own hands and stole Jim's broom and chased the old fuddy-duddy out with it.  
One time I remember his mama telephoned the bar asking for him. They talked for a while, and he lost that usual smile. When he hung up he told me his old horse died. He didn't look like he wanted to talk about that. So I mentioned something I'd heard his mama say. "So Alfred's your name...? That's a nice name." to which he replied, "No it ain't. There's no big hero named Alfred."  
Another day Mr. Jones and some German man who was new around town had a bet over who could drink the most. You can imagine this didn't end well, and the both of them got thrown out by Jim for disturbing his customers with their arguing and making a mess all over his floor. I followed them out and it was an odd sight, as they weren't fighting any more, but they had their arms around each other and were strolling down the street singing old songs.  
Some day in there Mr. Jones told me he was going to do it, he was going to join the air force and finally fly, and what better time than with the great war going on now? I didn't believe him, as he'd had a few by that time.  
I remember Mr. Jones got to telling us a story about this one Spanish girl he'd had a thing with a few years back, and he got so into it he started dancing around with the broom.  
Another time, Mr. Jones was crazy enough to bring Indiana to the bar. He told Jim the dog was well-trained and wouldn't cause any trouble, and for some reason Jim just went with it. Old Indie was real popular with the ladies, they all were cooing over him and scratching his ears and wishing they had dogs that cute. Mr. Jones leaned over and whispered to me that it was all part of his plan.  
One of the best times was when he'd had far too many and got to talking about Sasquatch again, and ended up asking Jim to dance.  
But perhaps my favorite time was the night of the ballgame. All the men on this half of town gathered in that tiny bar, drinking and singing and all listening to the tiny radio on the counter. Their team would score and they'd all jump up and cheer! The other team would score and they'd all boo and hiss. And it was the darndest thing when their team won, everybody threw their arms up and screamed and they jumped and danced and clanked their beers, hugging and laughing and having the best time.

I decided that, even though they probably wouldn't care, I should write Mama and Papa a letter so they weren't worried about me. I addressed them as "Dear parents," rather than "Dear Mama and Papa," so as not to favor one over the other. Amd I told them I'd made it to New York City and it was beautiful here, and that I was living in a hotel but I'd find an apartment soon, and that I'd made friends with a curious Mr. Jones, and that it was really lovely here and perhaps they should come visit sometime. I mailed it off the next day.  
A week later I recieved a reply. In all honestly this shocked me a bit, I hadn't expected them to respond.  
The letter wasn't from Mama or Papa, but some man I didn't know. It came from the correct address though, and was meant for me, so I opened and read it.  
According to the man writing, my Mama and Papa no longer lived there. He'd moved in last month. And he said he was sorry, but Papa had passed from the alchohol, and so Mama'd moved back to England. He wished me luck in the city, and apologized again for me having to hear this news in such a way.  
I just sat down on the bed to steady myself and reread it. I hadn't been particularily attatched to either of my parents, but still I felt horrible over dear Papa and my leaving at that time.  
I didn't go to the bar that night. Mr. Jones would have to do without me. I just laid there and stared at the ceiling, not exactly feeling much of anything.  
After about an hour there was a knock on my door. I figured I knee who it would be. "Come in, it's open." I called, not feeling like getting up.  
As I'd guessed, Mr. Jones opened the door and stuck his head in. "S'matter, Mattie, you weren't at the bar tonight!"  
I sat up and gave him a sad sort of smile. "I didn't feel much like drinking. My Papa died..."  
One minute he was at the door and the next he was right there, hugging on me and telling me he was sorry and it was going to be alright.  
"Thank you..." I hugged him back, feeling the tears well in my eyes, though I had hardly known the man.  
He sat with me for a moment, and for the first time was silent. I sniffled a bit, bust aside was quiet as well.  
"You know, Mattie..." he started to say something, and I looked up to listen. "I don't think your Papa would have wanted you to be sad."  
"What do you mean?" I wiped a tear from my cheek and gave him a confused sort of look.  
"He wouldn't want you all sad and cryin' 'bout him bein' gone. I think he'd want you to be happy 'bout when he was here."  
As crazy as it seemed I think I understood what he was saying. "You know what, Mr. Jones, I think you're right."  
He smiled and patted my back, and we sat together in my little room that night, the quietest we ever were, but I don't think I was one bit sad after that.

We had a good two months or more together in the bar with old Jimmy (and sometimes Indiana) before he delivered the news again.  
"Mattie, I'm gonna do it." he said to me on one night he'd been particularily quiet.  
"Do what?" I asked, a bit frightened by this sudden change in him.  
"I dun joined the air force. I'mma go fly." he slammed down his drink and looked at me determinedly.  
"Oh, good for you!" I tried not to be sad or scared, but be happy for him as I patted him on the back.  
"I'mma miss ya." he gave me a sad sort of smile.  
I returned the smile, "I'm going to miss you too."  
We hugged it out like brothers and spent one last night laughing and talking like we had for almost a year now.  
Before he left he told me to stay pretty, eat my vegetables, and not get too caught up in the girls. Then he saluted me and hiked off, skippy as ever.


	2. Chapter 2

I didn't see him once during 1941. That winter I got a job at the local movie theater, and by the summer I'd had enough money for a small apartment of my own, and I moved out of the hotel in May.  
I hadn't gone to the bar for a while, because I knew I'd miss him too much if I did. Sometimes I wondered how he was, whether he'd made it as a pilot, if he'd made friends and was doing well in the war.  
One night in I decided to go back to the bar and visit Jim. I sat at what used to be Mr. Jones and my spot at the bar, and talked with Jim and a few new men I had never met. Indiana was wandering around the bar, I guess Mr. Jones had left him with Jim while he was gone. I didn't say much to the others, more listened to them talking. I'd caught snatches of the news from them. And I thought I'd heard one of them say they'd heard an airplane pilot crashed down just last night. I refused to believe it was him, but everybody else seemed to think so.  
By that night my mind assumed the worst, however, and the next few weeks were quite depressing as I kept hearing the new of the unknown pilot all over town. By the end of the month I'd given up on whatever hope I'd clung to, and I stopped going to the bar.

In July there was a knock at my door. I was completely in shock, I didn't know anyone who could possibly want to visit. I walked over and opened the door.  
"Didja miss me?" came a familiar cheery voice and I jumped up and hugged him.  
"Mr. Jones!" I clung to him for a good minute or so while he just laughed at me. "Deary me, I thought you were dead!"  
"Well gee, ain't you the positive one." he adjusted his hat and grinned at me. He looked simply dashing in his uniform.  
"But- they said- and- ohh!" I hugged him again, laughing in relief.  
"Arright, arright," he patted my head and I let go of him. "Nice place ya got here." He smiled around.  
"Oh yes, how'd you find it?" I asked.  
"Went to the bar and ya weren't there, so I went to your old place and the guy told me where ta find ya. Didn't think ya could escape, didja?" he laughed and ruffled my hair the way he always used to when I did something he thought was funny.  
I laughed along with him and led him inside, and I sat and listened to all his new stories about what a great pilot he was. Oh, it was good to have him back.

We fell asleep at my kitchen table together, and when I woke up in the morning I just laughed at the sight of him: head buried in his arms, his hat on sideways, and a tiny puddle of drool on the table.  
I dragged myself and made breakfast. He woke up at the smell of the bacon.  
"Woo-wee! Did my Mama stop by here las' night?" Good morning to you, too, Mr. Jones.  
"No, but I made breakfast," I brought him a plate of pancakes and bacon and eggs.  
"Well ain't that jus' dandy!" He set to stuffing his face immediately.  
I sat next to him with my own plate and poured a bit too much syrup over my pancakes.  
He made an mmm noise at the bacon. "Did I ever tell ya how much I love ya, Matt?"  
"Ah- uh, no sir, I don't believe so." I can't possibly imagine why but I felt my face get all hot.  
"Well-ah-do. You kin move in wit me and make me ba-kin ev'ry mornin' if ya want." And indeed, he seemed to be cherishing every moment with that bacon.  
I just laughed at him. "Whatever you'd like, Mr. Jones."  
"I'd like more bakin." He grinned.  
I shook my head and slid him my plate of bacon. When he'd finished all of the bacon he slid back in his chair and closed his eyes. "Ahh... I'm gud now. Take me to Jim's." he reached out his arms like a small child wanting to be carried.  
"Well I have to go to work." I cleaned the dishes quickly.  
He spun around quickly. "Yer workin'!?"  
"Yes. I got a job down at the theater. They were hiring back last winter." I walked to my closet to get changed for work.  
"Well shooot, I'll bet tha's fun!" He got all smiley and jumped up. "Can I come?"  
"Sure, I don't think they'll mind," I wiggled into my shirt and smiled over at him.  
"Darn skippy! Le's git goin'!" He jumped and clapped all excited.  
I walked over to the door with him and he skipped out after me. We walked down the block- well, I walked, he skipped, and I couldn't help but notice how everyone stared. They must have thought Mr. Jones something awful curious, after all it wasn't every day you saw a man in a military uniform skipping down the street.  
I let us into the theater, where just a few other employees were. It would open in ten minutes. I took Mr. Jones up to where I worked. My boss had decided I was too shy to work at the ticket booth so he put me up in the projection room.  
Mr. Jones pronounced my job "Killer-diller..." as he looked around in awe.  
It was pretty nifty, if I do say so myself. It was a small, dark, square room, but it was filled to the brim with old movie reels. There was the projector, and I hooked up today's movie to it while telling him about how cool it is I get paid to watch movies, and that the cute girl downstairs always brought me popcorn.  
He tried to watch out the little window that the projector shot through, as a small crowd started gathering below. "Howdy!" He waved down at the people, and they chuckled up at him.  
My little friend Amy brought Mr. Jones and I popcorn, and he gave her a wink with his "Why thank ya, ma'am!"  
She giggled and ran out. I shook my head at him. "Boy, you sure have a way with the ladies, don't you?"  
"Darn tootin'!" He chuckled and flopped back in one of the chairs I'd brought up back in December.  
The crowd filled in below and I set to turning the movie reel, while Mr. Jones sat beside me downing all the popcorn.  
We laughed and screamed, and cried along with the crowd. When the bad guy came on he tossed popcorn- but when the hero won he jumped up and the whole thing dumped on the floor. I squealed as I was showered with popcorn and nearly fell off my chair laughing. He saw this golden opportunity and snatched the popcorn up off the floor and tossed it at me.  
"Hey!" I laughed and tossed a few back, but missed.  
"Take that! And that-" He tossed fistfuls of popcorn that caught in my hair and down in my clothes.  
"Ahh, ahh-" I shook my shirt and jumped up and down to get the popcorn out, while Mr. Jones cackled wildly at how foolish I looked.  
He was doubled over, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard he might hack up a lung. I was still hopping around trying to get the popcorn out of my shirt when I bumped into the projector and crashed to the ground on top of it. We both stopped laughing immediately and gave each other a look of utter horror.  
The crowd below was booing and hissing that the movie had stopped. My manager tossed open the door and yelled, "WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE."  
He took one look around, snatched us up by our shirt collars, and tossed us out the front door. "YOU'RE FIRED!"  
We stood there in a shaky silence for a moment before Mr. Jones turned to me and frowned. "Aw gee, Mattie, I'm sorry..."  
I didn't respond for a minute... and then I just started laughing. And once I started I couldn't stop.  
He chuckled a bit but I think he still felt guilty.  
"That was 'killer-diller!'" I joked and nudged at him.  
He laughed along with me. "You ain't mad!?"  
"Ahh, it's nothing..." I finally was able to stop my laughing. I should have been angry. I should have been upset. But it was my fault, I was the one who crashed into the projector. And how could I be mad, it was all so much fun.  
Mr. Jones chuckled and picked a piece of popcorn out of my hair, to which we both laughed madly again.

The next night Mr. Jones was back in his suspenders and we walked into Jim's, and everything stopped- and the whole crowd cheered for him. He bowed to them teasingly, before beimg tackled to the ground by Indiana.  
"Jonesy, my boy, why we thought you were a goner!" Jim clapped him on the shoulder proudly. Jimmy slid him a beer for free and he scratched Indie's head as he lifted himself up onto his old barstool. All of the men lost interest in whatever ballgame they'd been listening to and gathered round to hear his war stories.  
He told us about the wicked old general and all his buddies he'd made at camp, and how he'd learned to fly an 'aeroplane' and now he was so good at it he could do flips, and how he'd saved half his team from the evil Nazis in just one shot, and how he'd flown parachuters over Poland, and how he'd almost been shot down but pulled up at the last second, and how he was such a great hero they'd given him a medal and everything, and how one time his engine failed and he almost died but he survived the crash by jumping and he'd lived in the woods for a whole two weeks before he hiked his way back to the camp. And when the crowd had dispersed and he was running out of hero stories, he got to telling me about all the little antics him and his friends got up to, playing pranks on the general and such.

That Saturday was the Fourth of July, and it was Mr. Jones' absolute favorite holiday.  
"FOR THE GLORY OF AMERICA!" he'd shout for all the city to hear as we rode his now-fixed tandem bicycle through Central Park at an unimagineable speed, him dressed in all red white and blue with sparkling suspenders and an Uncle Sam hat, me sitting behind with Old Glory tied around my neck like a cape, clinging to him and shouting over and over again my doubt that this was a good idea, and old Indiana running after us, barking like a madman. As you could probably guess, we crashed. And into the same tree as last time, in fact.  
I screamed like the young girls at Coney Island, whereas he just laughed it off. We were tangled up in the bike under the tree, with Indie watching and wagging his tail just like last time.  
"Dé-ja vù, ah?" He threw his head back into his mad wicked cackle and pulled himself out of the bike wreckage. This time, he helped me up.  
I brushed off and laughed nervously, hoping this wouldn't become a tradition of ours.  
After parading around town handing out little cocktail flags and beads and candy to people for the better part of the afternoon, Mr. Jones and I took a walk down to the Brooklyn bridge and waited until it was dark. We stopped somewhere up in the middle, I leaned on the banister while he climbed up and sat on it. And around seven, after the most gorgeous sunset, the first of the fireworks set off.  
I yelled and hid behind him at the sound, but he pulled me back up to watch, and it was like something out of the movies!  
"Whoa-ho-ho!" I shouted in awe of the magical fireworks. I climbed up on the handrail with him.  
"Ain't they sumthin'!?" he threw his arm around me and laughed at the colorful explosions in the sky. We both ooh'd and ahh'd and he'd yell and whistle as if they could hear us.  
"Wow..." I sighed, staring up at the sparkling lights raining down, and he always just chuckled at me.  
"This's why the fourth's mah favorite," He just smiled up at the fireworks show, the red and blue glow flashing on his face.  
"I think it's my new favorite too," I smiled up at the sky along with him.  
The grand finale blew off and we cheered, Mr. Jones nearly falling off the rail. We sat waiting for a moment, before climbing down and walking back home, still watching the sky, just in case. It was my first time celebrating the holiday, but I positively loved the spirit of it.

I found out we'd only have one more week together before he'd have to go back to the air force. But we were determined to make the best of it. We spent nearly every minute of that week together. Most of the time we sat at our bar, but when Jim's was closed we'd just wander aimlessly around the city for something interesting.  
One night, I remember, we'd gotten lost in what Mr. Jones called 'the barrio,' or in other words, the Spanish part of town. There was a lighter sort of atmosphere here, more celebratory, everybody was so bright and friendly, there were snatches of laughter and singing, with restaurants and little shops lining the streets.  
Mr. Jones bounced peppily, "I like this place. These're mah kinda people." I just chuckled at him. "Golly, Mattie! Lookie there!" He pointed to a building not too far ahead, and it was clearly the most lively on the street. The music could be heard a block away and everybody was dancing and having themselves a good old time. "Looks like a real party in there! Le's go!"  
We ran to the little Spanish club and walked in on the grandest party either of us ever did see. We joined the other men near the bar and sort of just jived with the music, watching the beautiful flamenco dancers battle it out on the floor.  
"Lookit that 'un, Mattie!" He elbowed me and pointed to one of the dancers. She had long black hair and a pretty painted face, and she wore a long dress of red frills, tight against her slim body. Mr. Jones wolfwhistled at her. "She's a beaut!"  
I watched the black-haired dancer more closely. Yes, she was very beautiful.  
Mr. Jones leaned closer for a better look. "Golly, Mattie, I thank tha's Maria!"  
"Do you really think?" I remembered the story of Maria very well; that had been the night he'd gone dancing off with old Jim's broom, bragging about the wild young thing he'd run off with for a night.  
The two dancers finished with the music with an 'olé!' and one last click of the castinets in a glamorous pose. The crowd cheered wildly and shouted their praise in Spanish. Mr. Jones gave his Maria a suggestive sort of smile and she sashayed off the floor to us.  
"Well look who it is," she said, returning the smile.  
"Ah, well, yanno," he smiled. For the first time, he seemed nervous. He had his thumbs hooked in his suspenders and was leaning back and forth on his heels. "I couldn't stay away."  
I smiled to myself and looked away casually, pretending I wasn't listening.  
"Still the smooth operator, I see." She gave a silvery sort of laugh. He just chuckled nervously.  
Ah, young love. I decided to leave them to their business and went up and sat at the bar. I'd gotten into an interesting conversation with the bartender, who'd learned English, about how he'd come here from Mexico. He told me quite the story about how he and his family had crossed the border. I smiled on and told him how I'd come from Canada.  
When Mr. Jones came and sat with me about a half hour later his hair and clothing was all ruffled, and I swear I saw him lipstick from his face. I smiled slyly to myself, trying not to laugh.  
"She's perfect for you." I elbowed at him. His face reddened and he just chuckled at me. ..."There's got to be somebody for me..." I mused on, daydreaming about how someday I'd some lucky gal out dancing, and she'd fall in love with me, and maybe someday we'd get married and have babies and live somewhere nice out in the country like where Mr. Jones was from.  
"Ahh, don't'cha worry there, Mattie! We'll find'ja a girl!" He patted my back.  
I just smiled and shook my head. "I doubt it."  
And just to tease me he got up and walked away, only to swagger back over and lean on the counter all cool. "Hiya sugar," he winked at me, "Are you rationed?"  
I chuckled at him. "What on earth are you doing?"  
He took my hand and kissed it like he had the girl at Coney Island. "How'dja like to dance, honey?"  
I rolled my eyes at him and slid off the bar stool. "Oh, sounds lovely."  
He pulled me over and slid a hand around my waist, and I gave him a curious, sarcastic sort of look. He spun me around in a waltz and I just laughed, "Really?"  
"Why not?" he spun me under his arm, and we both laughed at how ridiculous we felt.  
"Yow, Matt! Stop steppin' on mah stompers!" he jumped a little.  
"Ack, sorry!" I hid my face, ashamed. I didn't have two left feet, I was so bad I had three.  
But he laughed at me. "Ahh, I'm just teasin'."  
Mr. Jones was actually a really skilled dancer, even if we were just goofing around. He even went so far as to dip me in midair at the end of the song. We walked out laughing and teasing each other.  
We stumbled out of the barrio, still laughing and joking about our dancing. I'd had a brilliant time. I waved him goodbye in front of my apartment building, but he tackle-hugged me and ruffled my hair and everything. "Ooh, I'm gonna miss you!"  
"Oh... Right, you're leaving..." I gave him a sad sort of smile.  
"Ahh, I'll only be gone a little." he smiled, and after one last rib-crushing hug and a slick little salute, he was gone.

I didn't see him again until 1943. But this time wasn't as bad as last, he'd at least found a way to send letters. I still have all of them to this day, hidden in a little box in my closet. Sometimes I read through them when I miss him, and I remember those long nights at Jim's.  
The first letter I recieved in September of 1942:

* * *

9/9/42  
Hi-de-ho there, Mattie!  
What's buzzin', cousin? They're lettin us send letters this time! Figured I'd write to you and Mama, so you know I ain't dead or sumthin. Do remind Jim to feed Indie, wontcha? I think he was lookin a little thin last time.  
Anywho, the guys here tell me I do a real good impression of Glenn Miller, I really gotta show ya sometime. Also I really miss your bacon. You should send some.  
You better write back, Mister!  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

September 12, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
So lovely to hear from you! Oh, how Jim, Indiana, and I miss your stories! I swear every time your name is brought up Indie looks over. That's a smart dog you got there, Mr. Jones.  
I wish you well in your endeavors in the air force. Has life there been treating you kindly?  
I should also tell you that I recently got a new job, I take a small paper route around Brooklyn. I do hope that when you return it won't end like last time.  
I had to ride into a tree all by myself this Fourth of July as well, I'll have you know. But the fireworks were outstanding! Did they shoot of fireworks there too?  
Oh, it's been awful lonely. I pray for your safe return soon.  
Best wishes!  
Matthew  
P.S. I included a package of bacon. I do hope it got there safely.

* * *

9/17/42  
Hey there Mattie!  
Golly, you been busy! Sure am bummed I missed them fireworks. Oh and I'll try not to getcha fired this time.  
And since you and Jim are missin my stories, I gotta good un for ya. You gotta promise to tell 'em though!  
So we was back at the trainin camp and me an some of the boys were goofin around makin' fun o' the genral's mustache, and he comes up hind us yellin' "What're you boys doin!" and my one friend Joe says to him, "Nuthin." So old genral growls at us and turns away, so I does the mustache again and Joe laughs, and the genral turned round and dun chased him halfway round the entire camp! I ain't never seen no one run that fast. Wish you coulda seen!  
And thanks a million for the bacon! Me an the boys snuck round back of the cabins and lit a mighty nice little fire and cooked ourselves up some bacon. Golly, Mattie, you shoulda been there too! When ya gonna man up an join me?  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

September 20, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Oh boy, all that sounds like so much fun! I'm glad you enjoyed the bacon! Next time I'll have to send you some of the Canadian kind.  
Jim said dear Joe was lucky he survived that run in with the general. When I went there old Indiana was waiting at the door wagging his tail, and I think he was looking for you. The poor fellow doesn't know what to do with himself! Frankly, neither do I.  
I must inform you that your Spanish friend stopped by a few days ago asking about you. I told her you'd gone off in the air force. She marveled that you really did find an escape, and just laughed and left. I don't quite understand, but I'm sure you will?  
Anyway, I'm so very glad you're having fun! You must take me for a plane ride sometime.  
Hope to see you soon!  
Matthew

* * *

9/27/42  
To my dearest-dandy-Matthew,  
I didn't know you Canadians had yer own special bacon, no fair! Poor ol' Indie needs some love, Jim don't pay no attention to that dog. Maybe you could take him? Also if Maria stops by again, tell her I ain't never comin back. That'll freak her.  
I was tellin my friends bout you and Jim and them, and they says they'd love to meetcha. I should take them home with me! Think I could fit a man in a suitcase?  
Ooh and did I tell ya I got to fly the reeaal big plane round the camp? Genral says I'm one a the best darn pilots he got! Dont that make ya feel special!  
When are you gonna join again?  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

September 30, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Congratulations! Not everyone recieves such high praise!  
I don't think it a great idea to tell Maria that, however I will next time I see her.  
Jim said he'd be glad if I'd take Indiana off his hands for a while. I don't think he enjoyed having a dog around the bar, but I've grown quite fond of the little fellow. He likes to take up my entire bed, and he tends to steal my dinner a lot, but who can resist those puppy eyes?  
I took Indiana on a walk through Central Park yesterday, and I think the squirrels he chased had the same mindset as Jim, but he did make friends with a kind old woman out feeding the birds. She was in the same bench I always used to sit. It reminded me of how we met. I do hope you know there is still a mark on that tree.  
And I learned a new word:  
Salutations!  
Matthew

* * *

10/4/42  
How-dee-do there Matthew?  
Hah. That rymed. rimed...? rye-m-ed..? Ahh, you know what I mean. Anyhow, thanks for takin' Indie! I know you'll take good care of him. I hope he doesn't chew up your stompers. And that poor tree's been the victim of all my bike crashes for years.  
It's so excitin, we get to fly over to Europe next month! We're stoppin near Londin, mebbe I'll say hi to yer momma. Then we get to go up to Polind, and tha's cool cause they have real good food there. Hope I can still send ya letters from there! It's been mighty nice havin someone back home to talk to.  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

October 6, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Europe! Oh my! And London, no less, how exciting! I've always wanted to visit there, Mama used to talk about it like it was the greatest place on Earth.  
And yes, unfortunately, I'd gotten home late from my paper route one day to find Indiana had chewed up my shoes! Let's hope it's not the couch next time.  
The other day Jim and I were musing on about women, and he said none ever came to his bar, so I got to telling him about the barrio, and he said we weren't getting any younger and we should take a little trip down there. So Jim closed up the bar early and we walked down there. I found Maria and told her she wasn't ever going to find you because you weren't coming back (wink), while Jim the old dog was off frolicking with some dapper young lady. We also watched men get in a fight over one of the flamenco dancers. In the end I was thankful to go back to a quiet apartment with a friendly old dog. Who needs women?  
I wish you the best of luck in Poland, dear friend!  
Matthew

* * *

10/12/42  
What's buzzin' cousin?  
Well I'll be darned! Jimmy, the old rascal! Way to go! But no one for poor old Mattie? Daww, least ya still have Indie, heheh. Thanks for talkin' to Maria too!  
Golly, Mattie, I dun almost crashed a plane yesterday! It was darn scary! My pardner wan't payin attention and dinn't press the button when I told im, and it almost spun outta control! Genral said we werent allowed ter fly for a hole week. I almost cryed.  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

October 15, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Oh dear, do be more careful! We need you back! Lord knows what we'd do if you crashed.  
I should tell you, they're trying to take your tree down. They want to build over that part of the park. I may just take Indie down there and we'll chain ourselves to the tree like a bunch of those hippies. I am not letting them tear down our dear park!  
Wish me luck!  
Matthew

* * *

10/22/42  
Hiya sugar, are you rationed?  
Jus' teasin' bud. My friends and I like to toss round pickup lines n' case we ever get back there and the uniform ain't enough to win the gals over. Why not try it on one a them perty gals that hang out round the corner?  
An god bless ya fer watchin that tree! We have so many spescial memries together. How coud I forget the day I dun met my best frend?  
I miss ya, brother!  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

October 26, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I'll write that one down, but you know I'm too shy to speak with the pretty ladies. And I don't think the ones at that corner are interested in being friends, you know.  
Indie and I went back down to the park, but apparantly the real hippies already beat us to it, because they'd given up trying to tear it down. The squirrels and little old ladies were back and everything.  
Wish you were here!  
Matthew

* * *

11/4/42  
Howdy, Mattie!  
Guess who's in Europe! We flew cross the Alantic yesterday, boy was that cool! My pardner did gud this time, he did the flyin right and we made it. The genral was real proud a evrybody.  
We landed in France, actuay, but evrybody we were meetin there was British. They said thank god we ain't stayin with the Frenchies real long, cuz even though we allies they're still real annoying. The French said the same bout us Americans. Silly foreners!  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

November 7, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Well how very exciting! It must have been really something, flying across the whole Atlantic Ocean. I wish I was brave enough to do something wonderful like you.  
I'd hate to give bad news, but Indiana ran off. We were walking in the park and he ran off after a squirrel and I lost his leash. I put up lost dog posters all over town. I hope he returns soon. I am so very very sorry. I promise I'll find him!  
Sincerest apologies,  
Matthew

* * *

11/15/42  
Well hey there, Matthew!  
We dun flew over Polind! We even sent parachuters down there, and they were shootin at the little people on the ground, and it was all good fun.  
That's a darn shame about Indie, but dontcha fret too much! He always comes back.  
I hafta tell ya, Joe dun got himself tackled down by the genral for sayin his mustache looked like a catepiller. That guy don't joke round bout his facial hair, huh?  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

November 17, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
It's all good, Indiana found his way back home. I found him at Jim's, and Jim said if I was going to be foolish and let the poor dog off like that he'd cchase me with the broom. I think we were wrong about Jim and Indie.  
And Poland! Really? How very exciting! I do hope those parachuters made it alright. Did you happen to get a chance to eat "pierogies" or "kielbalsa" there? Jim had Polish food once and just won't stop talking about it.  
And poor Joe better watch his step! Pretty soon the general's going to make him grow a mustache!  
Good luck!  
Matthew

* * *

11/20/42  
Hey there old buddy!  
I'm leavin man and I'm goin off to Germany! I ain't never been there before, but we're reddy to kick some Nazi behind! Genral says they got big fancy aeroplanes and they gon be flyin round lookin for us. Should be fun!  
And nah, we weren't lucky nuff to get any food frum them. Darn shame too, the British guys were real excited bout it. They said that was the one part a France they did like.  
Also Joe and the genral made frends, and Joe says now he's growin a mustache too! Inn't that sumthin!? Maybe I should grow a mustache.  
Love ya, brother! Promise not to miss me too much?  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

November 22, 1942  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I wish you the best of luck in Germany! Do promise you'll be careful, though. I hear they don't have the slightest bit of mercy. I really hope everyone makes it back alright.  
And I wouldn't doubt the power of a good mustache. Apparantly they're very popular with the ladies.  
And I try my darndest, but I don't think I'll ever get over that empty seat next to me at Jim's.  
Come home safe! Indie and I send our love!  
Matthew

* * *

I didn't recieve another letter for quite some time. And the reply I got wasn't quite what I'd been looking for:

January 3, 1943  
To the family of Mr. Alfred F. Jones:  
I regret to inform you that Mr. Alfred F. Jones has been declared Missing In Action since the 26th of November. His plane crashed down in a bombing over Germany. Search parties have been sent, but only remains of the wreckage have been recovered; he was not inside the plane at the time of the explosion.  
We are sorry for your loss.  
-The United States Air Force

I ran the whole way to Jim's. He gave a surprised sort of look at the right state I was in. "What're you dyin', boy?"  
I shook my head and slammed the letter down on the counter, sliding onto the bar stool breathlessly. Jim picked up the paper warily, and I watched his expression turn from concern at my distraught state to a look of utter horror.

I can't remember ever drinking more. Jim was on the job and he'd had at least four or five. Hell, I think Indie was drunk.  
Maria stopped by that night looking for him. I didn't have the heart to tell her the news. Jim and I were in a right state, and I don't think she believed when I told her everything was fine and dandy.  
I don't think I slept once that week. I'm not sure how well I did that rest of the month, either.  
By March we'd pretty much given up, and I do believe Jim was down stock by at least fifty percent that month. We had a hard time believing he'd survived lost in Germany through the winter.

That is, until May, when I recieved a particularily interesting letter.  
I ran the whole way to Jim's and slammed the letter down just as last time, wheezing weakly "Alive! He's- he's- alive- he's-... alive..." I slid up on the stool and almost passed out. Jim read aloud:

5/25/43  
MATTHEW!  
Guess who's alive!? Ahah! None of 'em could believs it when I hiked back into that camp!  
Oh, how I missed ya! You'd never beleive what I been through! So we was flyin over Germany right? And I sent the men down, and it was all good, then outta nowhere this crazy Nazi guy comes flyin by and shoots a missile right through the back a my plane! We started goin down and I couldnt pull it up and we was gonna crash, so me and my pardner snatched too a the parachutes and jumped. We got stuck in a couple a trees but cut ourselves free. And we were hikin in the woods a while... It was mighty cold up there, we spent a week in the forest jus wandrin' around. We dun went fishin and huntin and stuff and we built a little tee-pee like the indians and it was kinda fun 'cept for the part where we were almost dyin' an stuff. So we was hikin along, and we found one a them concentrashun camp things the Germans set up. We met some a them Jews tryin to escape and we snuck along with them. Fer months we were hidin' in cellers and basments and atticks and in between walls even! It was mighty frightenin hidin with the Jews, them Nazis'd always come lookin' for us, but them people we was with wouldnt tell em nuthin'. God bless em all, or none a us woulda survived. Somehow we'd traveled far enoufh and the group of us crossed the border to France. And I know the French didnt like us Americans but we was Allies and we was there savin the Jews, so they were nice to us. My pardner and I spoke to one a the French genrals and they gave us a ride back to where our troops were stayin'. Evrybody was real frendly.  
Oh boy Matthew they didnt think we was ever comin' back! But we dun did it! Cuz I said to my partner, I says, "We gotta make it," and he says "Yeah but what if we don't?" but I says, "No that ain't an option, no sir, I got people back home and I made a promise I'd see 'em again." and he smiled all proud and said "You're right, Jonesy," and guess what Mattie we made it!  
I'll be comin back by the Fourth, don't you worry!  
~Mr. Jones

"Mattie my boy, I don't believe it, he made it!" Jim high-fived me across the counter.  
"He did it," I laughed. "Well I'll be darned!"  
"Golly," He just shook his head, laughing in relief.  
"It's like a miracle..." I couldn't wipe the silly smile off my face. Jim started giving out free drinks, and Indie was chasing his tail and barking up a storm.  
Jim and I clanked our glasses together and cheered, all smiling. It was storming outside, but for the first time in months it felt sunny.

Jim and I sat together the next couple days, just waiting for him. On July second he marched into Jim's, and the old rascal, the first thing he says to me is: "Honey, I'm home!"  
I ran and jumped up and hugged him, and he spun mr around like I was his girlfriend or mama or something. He let me down and Indie ran up and tackled him to the ground, licking all over his face. Jim and I just laughed.  
That night the bar was as busy and lively as on a ballgame day. I listened to him retell the stories of how he'd gotten lost and hitched a ride with the Jews at least three times that night. ...I noticed the story got progressively more interesting throughout the night, and I wasn't sure if it was the beer or all that attention going to his head.

On the fourth he got up early and knocked at my door. I opened to him in the Uncle Sam hat, holding up my Old Glory cape.  
"Absolutely not," I pretended to close the door on him.  
"Aw, c'monn!" he whined. "Pleaseee? One last time?" he wrapped the flag around my shoulders.  
I sighed. "But no more after this!"  
"Yess!" He cheered in victory, grabbing my hand and running me outside to the bike.  
"This is a bad idea." I said as I squirmed into place on the backseat of the bike, holding around his waist so as not to fall off.  
"When wasn't it?" He laughed wildly and took off at high speed down the street.  
"What are you doing!? Wait until we're at the park!" I cried and held to him tighter.  
"We always crash in the park! So I had mah buddy set up a ramp at the end a the street-" He got a wicked sort of smile on his face.  
"ARE YOU CRAZY!?" I shouted and started panicking.  
"LIL' BIT." he just smiled as the bike flew up the makeshift ramp of wooden boards. I screamed for my mama with the tree, but this time I was screaming straight up to whatever lord took pity on my soul first-  
And we crashed! But- I wasn't dead? I looked over to Mr. Jones rolling around laughing like usual, and sat up. ...We landed in a mattress truck!? How terribly cliche and convenient-  
"Did I tell ya I had a buddy down at the mattress store too?" He managed to get out between laughs.  
I just flopped back. One of these days he was going to kill me.  
Whenever he did something that made me upset, he always took me out for ice cream. So he walked me down to the ice cream shop across the street from Jim's and we shared a banana split, because he said they were amazing and he couldn't believe I've never tried one. ...Even I had to admit, it was pretty amazing.  
Then we just walked around a while, looking at the town, he stopped and chatted with people a bit.  
That afternoon he borrowed his friend Robbie's car again. "There's this fancy newfangled thang called a 'drive-in.' I gotta show ya."  
So we drove for quite a while until the sun was just setting, and we came to this field with a bunch of other cars filling in, two tiny buildings, and a giant white screen.  
"What is it, like a movie?" I asked of the screen.  
"Heck yeah! But like- in yer car..." He grinned real big and pulled up to one of the spots and parked. "But first, they was gonna shoot off fireworks."  
And almost as by design, the first of the fireworks set off right as he said that. We leaned way up to the windshield to watch. I kept on getting distracted by the little couples in the other cars. They were all snuggled up together, the boys trying to bust a move. How sweet!  
At rhe end of the fireworks there were cheers and that's when the movie started. It was an interesting little film, set on a night just like this, in the summer, with a bunch of kids having fun... and then there was a serial killer! And he was out to get them, and he had a chainsaw.  
Mr. Jones just stared at the screen in awe. He didn't seem disturbed in the slightest, in fact, he was laughing. I, however, tried my very best, but ended up curled in a little ball, hiding my face. But after a while I was able to calm myself down, and I even laughed along a bit with Mr. Jones, because the movie was so cheesy.  
After a while I began to notice a bit of a trend for these drive-in things starting up in the other cars. Apparantly Mr. Jones noticed too, for he started chuckling wildly.  
"Aw, naw, lookit all the couples makin' out!" He pointed at all the cars in front of ours and snickered.  
"Lovely..." I half-smiled, half-grimaced. "I feel so left out," I joked.  
To which he said firmly: "We should make out."  
"Wha-!?" And before I could get a word in he'd grabbed my whole head and mushed our lips together. I flailed wildly and pulled away.  
"MIS-TER JONES!" I wiped at my mouth in shock and cursed at my face for turning the horrible shade of red I knew it must have been.  
He threw his head back and cackled madly, but his face was near as red as mine. Sometimes I wondered about the guy...  
I tried to pretend that wasn't my first kiss. I also tried to pretend I didn't have trouble sleeping that night. This certainly was my most 'interesting' Fourth of July experience. But stay hush, won't you? I haven't exactly told anybody about that night. And I wasn't ever exactly sure whether I wanted him to bring it up or not.

* * *

We had the rest of '43 together, before the air force needed him back. I think the best way to sum it up would be:  
Repairs to the old tandem bicyclye: $235  
All those drinks at Jim's: $470  
Replacing chewed-up shoes: $93  
Returns to Coney Island: $135  
Pity ice cream trips: $76  
Fixes to Robbie's crashed car: $345  
Stocking up on stamps: $88  
One last trip to the drive-in: $27  
Losing my job (Again): $100  
Having the time of my life with my dearest friend in the world: Priceless.

In 1944 he had to go back, and I do believe I actually cried this time. The war ended in 1945, but he wasn't back until 1947. So between then, we were pen pals again. Although it was difficult for him to write, because he was always on the run somewhere, so it usually took the letters a week or so to get to us.

* * *

3/17/44  
Dear Mattie,  
I'm told that's how yer sposed to do it, along with 'love' at the bottom. I been writin these things wrong fer years! Woopsies.  
Anyhow, we went back to Europe again, and all our guys are fightin with the British. And then all the Frenchies are fightin with the British. And then our guys are whinin bout the Russians. Really I think the only ones we shuld be fightin are the Nazis, but whatevr floats they're boats, right? Wish they were all happy like you.  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

March 26, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Indeed it is important to learn the proper way to write a letter! Although I must say I quite liked yours, they always had a bit of character.  
I do hope the soldiers learn to get along. What good does it do to fight?  
Not much significant happened here. Though I must tell you, of the night I turned twenty-five. I realized I was pretty much a full grown man, an adult now, and I was still unmarried and living in an apartment in the city...? I brought this up to Jim, to which he laughed and slid me a drink. Hint taken. At least I have a dog.  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

4/7/44  
Dear Mattie,  
Member a long time ago when ya said ya didnt need women? Hah, so much fer that! But I gess dogs are cool too. Didnt know you swung that way, sir.  
Anyhow, did I tell ya? Joe has a grand ol mustache now! I thank it makes im look quite 'refind.' Ah told im he should start wearin bowties round too, but the genral dun wacked me upside the head for that un.  
Also they got these nifty new planes this time! Im tryin to learn how to fly em, cuz everythings all changed up. Its way awsome.  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

April 15, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I absolutely do not feel that way about dogs! Oh my, it was a joke! Do watch what you're saying!  
Perhaps we should start growing mustaches. It would be something mighty difficult to find each other when you did come back, though!  
I got a new job, too. You know, after you decided to tag along last time and we ended up being chased by old Mrs. Jenkins' rottweilers and you fought them off with the newspapers. So! This time, I'm working in the restaurant across from Jim's. I'm just a waiter right now, nothing too exciting, but it definitely pays more, so that's always a plus!  
And good luck with those neat new airplanes!  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

4/28/44  
Dear Mattie,  
Guess what! We dun flew to Russia! We took them fancy new aeroplanes too! I gotta tell ya, it's mighty cold up here. We're gonna freeze to death if they don't let us borrow them fluffy coats! They got weerd food up here too. Tell Jim ta make me a burger when I'm comin back.  
And thats gud for you, gettin a job an such! But'cha make my job too easy, alls I gotta do this time's trip ya.  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

May 10, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I sent my best winter jacket with the letter, I do hope you aren't cold anymore! Just say the word when you're coming on home and I'll get the bacon and everything.  
And there won't be any need for that, Indie already managed to do that for you. He chased out several customers, who said he was a rabid dog that wanted to kill them. I think he just wanted to play. So much for waitering. I don't think it was meant to be.  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

5/16/44  
Dear Mattie,  
THANK YA SO MUCH YOU DONT EVEN KNOW. The Russians say jus suck it up it aint that cold, but all a us are freezin! And in May! Genral says we aint allowd to wear anythin over our uniforms, cuz some a the other guys got coats too. So we jus sneak em underneath and says we been eatin too much. Shh! But didja know there was a little bear in the pocket? He's a cutie!  
And I dont think old Indie likes bein alone. Maybe find a job you can take im too. Maybe you two coold dance on the street fer money, or sumthin. Wouldnt that be nifty?  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

May 30, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I do hope you don't get caught with the coats! The general will be so very angry with you! Please be careful? AndwatchoverKumajirouforme.  
And poor Jim! He's gotten into a lot of trouble lately! There just aren't as many customers as there used to be, not even on game nights! He can't pay his bills, and his landlord isn't pleased. They're talking about closing the bar. Jim says it's a dandy idea that me and Indie go dance. I don't think I'm good enough to get money for it!  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

6/12/44  
Dear Mattie,  
Golly, poor Jim! I went round to all the other guys and came up with a bunch a weerd Russian money. Doya think that'll work? I shoved it in the envlope jus in case.  
And its all gud now, we're back in Polind fightin. I hate to see what the Nazis are doin to them poor peple. They dont diserve that. I dont like it, Mattie, I want em all to get along like me an you an Jim an Indie. It's real bad here.  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

June 22, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
I hope this war is over soon, too. It's really awful what the Germans are doing. Try to stay strong! You're there to help! I know you'll do great.  
I gave the Russian money to Jim, but he just laughed. But I think he went and tried to tradw it later. He got Maria and a couple of her flamenco buddies down here dancing instead of Indie and I, and they're doing much better than we were. There's a lot more business now that we have pretty women. Good to know where the faith of humanity lies, huh?  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

7/4/44  
Dear Mattie,  
Hah! Good ol' Maria always had a way wit the boys. I hope Jimmy-boy can geddit all tugether fore I get back!  
Somethin real excitin happend today! Fourth of July, Mattie, our favrite! Too bad you couldnt see it too, we did an airshow for the other guys, who I think were gettin annoyed that we were all loud an celebratin and nows really not a gud time. But you gotta be happy sometimes! It was a mighty lotta fun. I promise I'm takin ya for a plane ride when I get back.  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

July 13, 1944  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Oh, how I look forward to your return! Indie and I watched the fireworks from the Brooklyn Bridge, just like our first time. But your holiday sounds much more exciting! I can't wait to ride in the plane with you.  
Jim's been doing grand since the flamenco dancers came. I don't think he's ever letting them go. In fact, he's been inviting local bands to come play, and he's looking into having one of those fancy television things installed for game days. I think he's got it well under control!  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

I didn't get a letter for over a year after that. I will say I began to worry about him a bit. But I didn't expect anything too bad, after all, it was Mr. Jones.  
And it turns out he was just fine:

9/2/45  
Dear Mattie,  
Well I'll be darned, ol pal, the war is over! We were drinkin and celebratin all night long! It was somethin amazin! We should end a war evry day. Evryone was so darn happy.  
And sorry I havent written in a while, its been real rough the past couple months. We jus gotta a lot a cleanin up to do here but theyre startin to send peeple home now. Hopfully I'll be seein ya soon!  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

September 12, 1945  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
It was as much of a celebration here! There were parades, and everybody was watching the president speak on Jim's new television, and we were all cheering and it was brilliant.  
I miss you so much! Please come home soon! I don't know how I'll go another year without you. Indie's been having to lose me all of my jobs and Maria's been the one drinking with me and I haven't ridden our bike in forever. It's all so wrong!  
I wish you the best of luck and hope you return safely!  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

It was a while after that, too, that he sent another response.

6/24/46  
Dear Mattie,  
I'm so sorry I havent come to seeya! I got back an heard Momma was sick, so I had ta go back home and make sure evrythin was all right. Momma was doin real bad. We was all real scared for her, but I think shes alot better now. Shes definitely a lot happier. And she keeps tryin to go out and feed the chickens. Im gonna stay with her a while and make sure evrythin's all good, but I'll be home soon don't you worry!  
Love, Mr. Jones

* * *

June 30, 1946  
Dear Mr. Jones,  
Oh, your poor mother! I send my best wishes, tell her I hope she gets better! And I can't wait for you to come back.  
Jim and I might just throw a party.  
Love,  
Matthew

* * *

And again, a long time for a letter back. It was the shortest ever, but I'd never been more pleased to read one.

3/16/46  
Mattie ol buddy I'm comin home!  
~Mr. Jones

* * *

I ran with old Indie down to Jim's and I do remember doing a little dance. "Why Jimmy, he's coming home!"  
Jim and Maria cheered with me, and Indie barked his approval. We couldn't wait.

In April of 1947 he came back. There had been several knocks at my door, each time my heart leaping wishing it was him- but each time it being the postman or the neighbors. And then one night I opened the door and there he was.  
"What's buzzin' cousin?" was what he went to say, but it was kind of interrupted.  
I meant to hug him, but it sort of came out funny and I tackled him to the ground hugging on him and laughing and crying at the same time. He laughed and cried along with me and we sat hugging each other for a long time.  
"Oh, I missed you!" I clung to him real tight.  
"I missed ya too, Mattie," He grinned and ruffled my hair.  
That night at Jim's was like the end of the war all over again, except all of the party was crammed into one tiny bar. We danced, we laughed, we sang, we drank, we all had a grand old time to contest with that old club in the barrio.

* * *

Those next few months were the best we ever had, the war was over, he was home, and it seemed nothing could go wrong.  
That Fourth of July, to make up for the ones we hadn't been able to spend together, Mr. Jones promised me an amazing surprise. He stole Robbie's car again and we drove for quite a while. I thought to myself, I'm going to laugh if this is another drive-in. When we were close to our destination, he told me to close my eyes because it was a surprise. But apparantly I peeked, because he pulled over and blindfolded me for giggling.  
He pulled up and parked somewhere, and helped me out of the car.  
"Okey-dokey, you kin look now!" He tried to untie the blindfold but just tangled it up more, so I just slid it off over my head.  
We were next to the shore, in a big empty spanse of parking lot, with several airplanes parked along the edge...  
I gasped. "We're not- you don't mean-" it was hard to hide the childish delight on my face. It was a bit frightening, yes, but so very exciting! I trusted that I'd be safe with him.  
"Heck yeah we are!" He grabbed my hand and ran off to the airplane at the end. It was one of those old-fashioned double-wing propeller planes. He lifted himself up in the front seat with ease and pulled me up in the seat behind him.  
"I can't believe I'm really doing this!" I couldn't wipe the boyish grin off my face. I guess everyone has a child at heart.  
He laughed at how excited I was. "Don't explode, now."  
I laughed along. "I'll try!"  
He handed me back a pair of those silly old flight goggles, which I bet made me look like some sort of fly or alien. Then he spun around and wrapped me up tight in a scarf. "It gets cold up there."  
Then he turned back around, pulled down his own goggles, and started up the plane. I jumped and yelped at the sudden loud noise, but I don't think he heard me.  
"READY MATTIE?" he yelled over the loud motor. I nodded and gave him a thumbs up.  
He winked at me, and turned back to the controls. The plane started off rolling across the lot, and then he pulled back and suddenly we lifted up into the air. The plane climbed higher and higher and then he leveled out, and we were up in the clouds!  
He cheered, "WOO-HOO-HOO!" and pulled the plane into a flip. I was screaming so loud I might have gone deaf. He laughed madly at me and straightened the plane out again.  
"THIS IS INSANE!" I yelled, clinging on as tight as I could.  
"HOLD ON TIGHT, MATTIE!" He laughed and spun the plane into a corkscrew. I screamed louder than any little girl on the rollercoasters at Coney Island. For some reason he thought this funny!  
He circled around the air hanger a few more times before landing back in the lot. When we were back down on the ground I could breathe again, and I just flopped back in my seat.  
He ripped off his goggles and spun back to me with a huge grin. "Wasn't that amazin!?"  
I nodded along with a dazed sort of smile. I felt a little sick.  
"Golly I love flyin'!" He couldn't stop smiling. I just chuckled at him.  
He jumped out of the plane and walked around to my side. I jumped like he told me and he caught me around the waist like a girl, and let me down on the ground gently.  
I wobbled slightly, which made him laugh even more. "You'll get used to it."  
I nodded and sort of fell into him. He patted my head and walked me over to meet some of his air force buddies that also lived here in New York.  
I take it back, that was definitely the most shocking Fourth of July surprise.

We had the rest of 1947 together before he had to leave again in January, and we lived it to the fullest. I couldn't tell you how many times that old bike needed repairs.

In January he had to leave me again. A special assignment with the air force, all very top-secret. I went with him this time, back to the air hanger. There was a large depressed group of others saying goodbye to their men who were leaving, and a convenient hint of rain clouds. I tried not to tear up at the thought of him leaving again.  
"I'm going to miss you," I said, wiping at my face.  
He just dropped everything and pulled me against himself and held me there tight, and I could feel he was crying (and I will assure you, Mr. Jones never cried if it wasn't for laughing too hard!). I hugged him back tight, and he started spewing off a whole bunch of nonsense at me: "And I love ya bunches and I promise I'll be back and don'tcha worry we'll be together agin someday and it'll all be gud again I promise-"  
I gave a tiny laugh and though there were tears streaming down my face, I smiled up at him. "Why, Mr. Jones, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you fancied me,"  
He returned my teary smile without a word and just ruffled my hair the way he always used to, and then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't get any letters this time. Sometimes I wondered if I hurt his feelings with that last comment. Sometimes I wondered if it was true and I'd scared him off. Sometimes I remembered that kiss last Fourth of July.  
Most of the time I just sat with Jim, wondering how old Mr. Jones was doing way over there. I hoped he was safe. But I wasn't worried. In a childish sort of way, I'd always thought he was invincible. Nothing was ever wrong in Mr. Jones' world.

Everything was fine. A bit lonelier, a bit emptier, but fine. Until one night at Jim's, when the postman came in and delivered to me a letter, so chillingly cold, not unlike one I'd known before:

September 15, 1948  
To the family of Mr. Alfred F. Jones:

Out of the envelope fell his dog tags. I bent down shakily to pick them up, knowing what horrible news the letter beared. didn't want to read on. But I forced myself to.

It is of deepest regret that we inform you that Mr. Alfred F. Jones' plane crashed down on September 11. Upon searching of the wreckage we found him to be dead.  
We are sorry for your loss.  
-The United States Air Force

Trying to ignore the tears welling in my eyes, I numbly passed the letter over to Jim. I slid the dog tags around my neck then, feeling the cold in my warm hands, running my fingers over his name. I couldn't belive it. He was gone. He was really gone. Everything in me felt numb then. And I haven't taken those dog tags off since.  
Maria was there that night too. I think she caught on to us, because she made Jim hand her the letter next.  
I remember that night and still carry it with me, a cold stinging sort of feeling. I'd never seen the bar so empty though there were many people, so forlorn yet there were music and bright lights. Maria sat at the bar crying, as Jim tried to console her broken heart and not cry himself, and I sat to the side, unsure of what to do with myself.  
To distract myself from the heavy ache in my chest, I tried to assist Jim in his efforts. "Don't cry, Maria..." I patted her on the back comfortingly.  
"How could I not cry?" she sobbed, blowing her nose on her little red handkerchief. "Why- I think I loved him,"  
"I- I loved him too..." ...More than she'd know. I sat beside her, biting my lip to hold back tears of my own. "But-... I don't think he would have wanted us to cry."  
She looked up at me with large, sad eyes. "Wh-What do you mean...?" Another small tear rolled down her cheek.  
"He wouldn't want us to be sad because he died. He would have wanted us to be happy that he lived." I smiled at her. I thought I finally understood it all now.  
She said nothing, and just nodded once before burying her head in her hands again. But she was quiet now, less shaking, no more sobbing, just- thinking. One of Mr. Jones' favorite songs played on the radio, quiet in the background, a solemn sort of reminder of the recent events. But I didn't find it saddening, why, in fact, I thought it quite inspiring.  
"Cheer up, dear Maria, and come dance with me." I stood and held out my hand to her.  
She gave me a pitious sort of look and forced herself to get up. I led her to the middle of the floor and waltzed her around the room, dancing and spinning and smiling at that silvery laugh of hers he always loved.  
It's not like I didn't still feel his loss. Not like there wasn't a big heavy sort of feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not like it didn't ache, in every fiber of my being, to be back in the bar where we sat for years, smiling and dancing, now without him. But he wouldn't have wanted that. Dear Mr. Jones was always the positive in the life he lived and loved, and he was infectious with it to others. ...And as I would learn, throughout the difficult years to come, that he'd always had the right idea. And even though he was long lost and gone, I knew, he'd never leave me.

_**~The End~**_


End file.
